


Live Together; Die A Clone

by koalatygirl



Category: Lost, Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: I'll post warnings per chapter in the chapter summaries, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:36:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1951836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalatygirl/pseuds/koalatygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A LOST au for the characters of Orphan Black, so a plane crashes on an island and things get hella weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tw: mentions of drug use

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Blood because, ya know, plane crash

Feeling the thick, long carpet under her curling fingers, Sarah knows exactly were she is. She’s lying in Vic’s apartment atop the filthy rug he uses to cover all the chips in the floor. Vic isn’t here—the silence of the mostly-empty space rings loudly in her ears. She is alone. It’s times like these, when the loneliness keeps her eyes closed with the flashes of her mistakes, does she think about her sister. The sister she could have had. The sister she _should_ have had, if the two of them hadn’t been given away to separate strangers, lost in other ends of the world. Maybe with a sister she wouldn’t feel this alone. But who is she kidding, she would’ve figured out how to drive her sister away, too. Loneliness might hurt, but at least it’s comfortable.

Sarah reaches for the leg of the table, planning to use it to help upright herself into a sitting position, when her hand grips what feels like a soggy log. Both hands branch out, slowly concluding that she may not be in Vic’s apartment at all, as blades of grass lick at her arms. Her eyes open wide, letting the sunlight pour into her head, making it impossible to focus through her hazy vision. She turns to the side into the shadow of the arm coming around her face when she squints at the ears of a fluffy-looking puppy from far away. She blinks hard when the puppy moves closer to her, only to discover the _puppy_ is actually a _person_ with thick, blonde curls. Her eyesight blurs again as she sits up, seeing the puppy-woman run towards her, lips moving in obvious panic, but Sarah has a hard time hearing her through the loud ringing. 

The woman half-crouches next to her, asking “Are you okay?” as Sarah comes to her feet, rubbing the back of her head, but still nodding. “When the plane was falling, I think—” the woman begins to say, hands tracing the path of the plane above her head before Sarah’s most recent memories flush through her, pushing away her clouded vision, her ringing ears, her pounding headache because she remembers how she isn’t alone. She lunges into a sprint for a break between the jungle brush that spills out into the sandy beach. _“KIRA!”_

The beach greets her like a nightmare. The sounds of screaming and mangled machinery push down on her ears as if they hold a physical weight. A woman in a blue scarf stands motionless, shrieking loud enough for every passenger on the plane. It masks the loud hums of the broken mechanical parts, and certainly makes it impossible for Sarah to hear any response her daughter may be yelling to her. She wants to strangle the woman with her goddamn scarf.

Blood stains the white sand in trails that lead to the water. _What if_ —She can’t afford to even think it. “Kira! Monkey can you hear me?!” She darts around to the backside of a plane piece the size of a trailer. “Felix! Siobhan!” But the only thing greeting her on the other side of the jagged chunk of plane is more blood, more loud clanking of metal, and more screams of people that aren’t Kira, Felix, or S. It twists her stomach in ways that weaken the strength of her knees, the strength of her voice, the strength of her hope. “Kira!”

She feels a tap on her shoulder and jumps, not realizing the blonde woman had been following her through the plane’s wreckage. “Is that Kira?” She asks hopefully, a French accent painting her words with a comforting fluidity. Sarah’s gaze follows the woman’s outstretched arm, then throws herself into a sprint in her daughter’s direction.

Kira is yelling out to her, standing with S and Felix where the jungle starts to melt into the beach. Sarah reaches out, falling on her knees, and wrapping her daughter in her arms. Their cheeks press together as Sarah’s hands run down the back of Kira’s head, feeling for any alarming injuries as tears sting in her eyes. Finally, Kira pulls away gently. With her arms still around her daughter, Sarah collects her relief and asks, “You okay, Monkey?” The little girl nods her head slowly and Sarah pulls her in for another hug and asks the same of the two behind Kira. Siobhan replies with a quick “yes,” coming closer to the two of them and placing a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. Felix stares out at the chaos in front of him. “Holy shite.”

When Sarah releases Kira, the terrifying image consumes the relief she just experienced. Red streaks the sand _everywhere_ and people are darting this way and that, jumping around, searching for friends and helping the broken ones. And everyone is still screaming. Not five feet from them lies a woman on her stomach, unmoving. “Kira, look at the jungle,” Sarah encourages in strained voice as she walks to the limp body. 

The woman’s straight brown hair falls over her face, covering her eyes, and her black shirt bunches up around the badge fastened to her hip. Sarah is about to turn away when she catches the rustling of the woman’s hair by her mouth. Quickly, she dips down to check her pulse, finding her not dead at all, and grips the woman’s shoulders to bring her on her back, shaking her gently. “Oi!”

The woman comes to, eyes blinking rapidly. “My name’s Sarah, can you tell me what your name is?”

“Beth—Beth Childs,” she says, coming to stand up much faster than Sarah had first been able to. “Are you fucking _serious?_ Our plane _fell_ out of the _sky?_ ” Sarah follows the thin line of white cotton in the sky as it transforms into a pillar of smoke on the beach. She really can’t believe it either. The woman—Beth—puts her hands over her eyes, shading them from sunlight, and squints into the wreckage. Sarah starts to ask if she’s looking for someone when a short woman with hair falling out of her pony tail stumbles right into Beth.

It takes her a few moments to realize what blocks her path. “Sorry!” She yells over the clanking metal and terrified voices. Beth nods her head in acceptance and reaches to steady the woman from falling over. A sharp sob bursts from the woman’s mouth and Beth recoils at the sound.

“Shit,” she mutters, looking at the woman’s arm. Sarah notices it now, too. It’s hanging limply at the woman’s side with her shoulder jut out irregularly. “Hey,” Beth directs gently to the woman. “What’s your name?”

“It’s on my name tag.”

Beth and Sarah look at the woman’s shirt, coming up empty.

“Uh…Okay. Look, your shoulder, it’s dislocated. I’m going to put it back, okay? Umm, try squeezing this with your other hand,” she adds, supplying the woman with a fist-sized rock.

She takes the rock and lets it fall to the ground in the same moment. “But it doesn’t even hurt,” she tries explaining, looking at her shoulder as she did so. Suddenly, her voice skyrockets back to yelling-volume. “My name tag is gone!” She touches the space on her blouse where it must have been. “I used the last of my sequence on it,” she whimpers. 

Beth picks up the rock and tries handing it back to the woman. “Have you seen my name tag?!” She shouts to Beth, as if they aren’t less than a foot away from each other. Sarah rolls her eyes. This woman is out of her bloody mind. The plane crash probably hasn’t even registered yet. Obviously not, if she can’t tell her shoulder is out of it’s socket.

“No, no. I haven’t seen it,” Beth says softer. “But if you tell me your name, you don’t need a name tag.” 

Sarah raises her eyebrows, impressed with Beth’s ability to calm the woman down enough for her to reply with “Alison.” 

Beth sets the rock back into Alison’s hand, asking what the name tag looks like. Alison is mid-description when Sarah’s ears are met with a chilling _crack_ followed by a loud yelp of pain. Sarah cringes at the sound but meets Beth’s eyes. The cop’s hand is brushing Alison’s good arm as she informs Sarah, “I have to find a few people.” Her voice hardens, nothing like the voice she used to coax Alison into being a cooperative patient. 

Sarah nods, watching Alison follow after Beth, yelling. “Wait! Will you help me find my name tag?” 

She turns back towards Kira and the others, expecting to find the French woman with them, but she has since left the group. Sarah settles in the sand behind Kira, watching the jungle and pulling her daughter on her lap. “It’s gonna be okay, Monkey,” she assures her with a kiss on her head.

Kira slouches into her mother’s grasp, sighing. “I don’t think so.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First night on the beach.  
> TW: mentions of drug use

Beth had found her partner soon after she started looking for him and her boyfriend, Paul. He was walking around steadily enough, so they separated. Art—her partner—began lending a hand to everyone he could and Beth still continues searching the crowd for Paul. In this moment she _hates_ him for insisting he fly with her and Art to Australia. She’d thought it’d been a joke at first; it’d been months since they’ve done something together, but Paul thought they could treat her work trip as a vacation, maybe it could help solve whatever they were going through. But now Paul could be _dead_ and she hates him for inviting himself along for a hopeless cause and she hates herself for letting him come when she didn’t want him to. How could she live, knowing Paul died because she couldn’t tell him no?

She stops her jog through the mass of broken plane and wipes the sweat from her forehead. _Get a grip, Childs. He’s not dead_. Her throat burns in the absence of water. And in the absence something she’s been trying not to think about. But her distress feeds the desperation for that alleviated aura of fuzziness that tickles the edges of her mind. She wants it, but all she has is the smoke-laced oxygen filling her lungs. 

“Do you see him?” Alison asks from just behind her. She’s been following Beth’s heels through the wreckage, helping her search for Art and Paul without knowing what either of them look like, but it was cute of her to do and at least she stopped asking about that goddamn name tag.

“No. I—uh, I don’t see him,” she replies, feeling her chest expand with the tainted air and tasting the toxins on her tongue. She’s grown used to Paul’s absence recently, but she’s never hated him so much for it. 

People have stopped screaming as much and Beth and Alison are some of the few people still wandering around the beach, hopelessly searching for a sign. To her left Beth watches as the blonde woman who accompanied Sarah introduces herself as “Delphine” to a woman in dreads, sitting in the sand with her bleeding leg propped up on a chunk of airplane. “Hey, I’m Cosima,” she replies with a wave and a smile, despite the faint smoke curling around her fingers, the blood trickling from her leg, and the fact that her plane just crash-landed on an island.

Beth’s nails dig into her palm. _God, why do they have to be so damn optimistic._ It’s painful to watch when her own hopelessness and anger makes the oxygen struggle to find her lungs more than the fumes do. Her eyes are burning _because of the smoke_ even though her throat closes in the way it does when she’s fighting tears.

“Dude, you okay?” She hadn’t realized she closed her eyes, but the shoreline is spinning with the sun’s blinding light when she reopens them. She nods, focusing her vision on the woman’s thick glasses, but her steps must wobble when she inches closer, looking to sit down, because Alison catches her arm and steadies her. “Woah.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Beth waves with her free hand nonchalantly. “The heat—it’s hot.” _No shit_. She swallows the saliva pooling in her mouth and attempts to focus on small details to keep herself anchored. Like the grits of sand gathered between her toes despite her shoes and the salty ocean breeze brushing pass her face and the light pressure of Alison’s hand guiding her down to a spot in the sand beside her. 

“You were with Sarah,” Delphine recalls.

“Yeah, Beth.”

“You were unconscious. Did you injure your head?”

Beth shakes her head, licking her dry lips. “No, no. Really, I’m fine,” she assures, putting a smile on her face. 

She starts getting back to her feet but Alison’s hand clasps around her arm tighter. “Beth, you should rest. You aren’t going to be able to find Paul if you’re passed out.”

The Cosima woman hands her a mostly-full bottle of water, which Beth chugs half of and then insists Alison finish off. The sun starts to dip into the ocean while Beth continues to squint through the wreckage, feeling faint and distant, and centering her attention on Alison’s hand to keep her from floating away.

Beth listens to their chatter half-heartedly, only picking up bits of the discussion and using the words to keep herself grounded. Soon Alison stops talking about her trip to Australia that she won from something Beth doesn’t catch, and the hand on Beth’s arm slides to the ground as Alison slouches into her side. She stiffens a little at the unexpected heat of Alison pressed against her, but unclenches after a moment because it feels good to be close to someone. It’s so _comfortable_. And maybe she could forget about everything that makes her need a sort of relief and doze off right here as the two other women quietly swap stories in the glow of the moonlight dancing off the rippling water. Her eyelids fall shut to the image of Alison’s relaxed face against her shoulder. She most certainly can fall asleep right here.

Or at least she could have.

It starts as a loud ruffling of branches and leaves in the jungle, which Beth brushes off as wind, or worse, some sort of wild animal, but nothing worth worrying about when she’s this relaxed. Until the rustling includes snapping of branches, heightened as trees begin falling as the source comes nearer. Delphine gets to her feet as an eerie hum booms across the beach, turning every head in its direction. Her eyes flash to the jungle before pulling Cosima up beside her, draping the woman’s arm around her neck and backing away from the sound. 

Trees snap at an alarming pace, headed towards the beach. Another unnatural hum roars closer to where Beth sits in the sand. “Alison!” Beth yells, not giving her a chance to wake up before she’s dragging her to where Delphine stands as a crutch for Cosima.

“What the Dickens?” Alison half-shouts, stumbling to find her footing since Beth is tugging her along much faster than a sleepy Alison is capable of. But Beth doesn’t slow until the pair of them are right at the shoreline with Delphine and Cosima, and Alison nearly slips upon their abrupt stop but Beth keeps her from falling. By the time Beth gets a chance to turn around, the hums have evaporated into the darkness and a light breeze seems to be the only thing ruffling tree branches. 

She glances over at Delphine and Cosima to verify that everything suddenly appears normal. Cosima still stares at the jungle with wide eyes, breaking away from Delphine’s grasp somewhat to look more closely, even from this distance. “Holy watershed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will be more Cophine in the upcoming chapters


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sliced shin and luggage digging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: very mild mention of a cut on Cosima's leg.

Kira. It’s the last thing she thinks each time she closes her eyes in those ten minute increments of sleep throughout the night. It’s the first thing she thinks at the early hour she finally deems late enough to open her eyes. Kira. Her monkey, her daughter, her _life._ Her little bundle of honesty and purpose and love, tucked safely into her side, shielded by her arms. She tries so, so hard to think of Kira’s smiles and laughs and the little things that makes Sarah’s heart squeeze, like when Kira requests bedtime stories or paints childlike portraits of her and Felix, but her mind always falls back to how _close_ she came to an eternal aching in the absence of her Kira. 

It hurts so much to think about because she so vividly remembers a time when Kira had undoubtedly been a mistake. Her stomach had dropped in regret when the strip turned pink. When Kira was a side effect of shagging the guy she was about to make bank on when a baby was just going to tie her to him, _which is the last thing she wanted._

Even now, she still tries to convince herself that he was nothing more than another bloke who fell for her tricks and charm enough for her to wipe his accounts to keep herself going that much longer. But he was different. Somehow. She liked waking up next to him and throwing his sweaters over her head to stroll downstairs and start the coffee. And that’s what made her run. The domesticity of it charmed her too much to enjoy as she waited for the fallout, for that life to hurt her and take everything she had, just as her scams do.

And the last person she expects to find on this bloody island is Cal himself.

She can’t believe it’s him, even as she untwines herself from Kira and walks closer to where he stares at the fuselage. That _cannot_ be Cal, but she’d never forget his shaggy hair, or his scruffy beard, or his worn flannels that enveloped her with the scent of his garage and a tinge of apple on the mornings she traded them for her own shirts.

Before she can turn away, before she can hide her face, before she can _run,_ he finds her. She can see it in his eyes the moment he recognizes her, something like surprise and delight overshadowed by a hard mask of bitterness etched into his features that makes her mouth press into a hard line of guilt. But still, he’s caught her and there’s nowhere to run to now.

“Sarah? Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, brushing his curls away from his face as he draws nearer. Sarah shifts her weight to one foot, arms crossed over her chest. “The last time I saw you, you ran off with my ten grand.” 

It’s not just bitterness. He’s angry. But honestly Sarah doesn’t blame him. Her arms unwind from their pretzel shape with a sigh. “Look, Cal,” she starts, eyes falling on the shoreline instead of his face. What is she meant to tell him? _I didn’t mean to steal your money._ Well, she damn well meant to, even if it was the hardest scam she’s had to pull. _I was really going to take more than I did._ As if she’s ever given him a reason to believe that. _I’ll pay it all back._ She bloody well can’t make a promise like that, can she? But she searches for something to say until— 

“Are you my dad?” It’s the loudest sound she’s heard since she got here. Louder than the screams and the plane fighting to work in pieces. The question pounds in her ears and her eyes burn with the image of the shoreline, completely unmoving until she feels Kira’s hand in her own and scoops her up. But she can feel Cal’s gaze and swallows harshly, the saliva practically stinging her throat.

“This is a big island, yeah?” She ponders slowly, the anger of Cal’s voice whispering in her ears. “We don’t have run into each other again.” Her voice is a bit strained, but she’s probably the only one who notices.

She turns, Kira’s question still booming in the space around her. She only gets a step away before hearing Cal’s loud exhale followed by a “Well, just hold on—Wait.”

—||—

The bright sun overhead prompts Cosima to wake much earlier than she usually does, tucked away in more blankets than most people even own, shielded by her patterned curtains that keep the sun from telling her when to wake up. _If only._ She flops over, onto her belly, forehead burning against the scorching sand, and groans.

“Bonjour, Cosima.”

She lifts her head and flops back over clumsily, trying not to jostle her leg much, and being certain that her cut doesn’t touch the sand. She cringes at the imaginative sting before smiling at Delphine. The blonde’s curly hair grew more wild overnight and it’s sticking out at odd places and _it’s really not that hot,_ Cosima tries convincing herself. But her conscience has always been a poor moderator of her impulses. And now she’s staring, like _really_ staring, and she can feel herself staring, and knows she should look away or at least, like, respond or something but it’s too goddam early in the morning for her thoughts to actually evolve into actions and—

“How is your leg?” Her eyes snap down to the cut running down the length of her shin. _Oh, thank God for the distraction._ “Yeah, it’s fine. Well, I should really clean it out,” she says, examining it with her fingers barely touching the puffy skin surrounding it. “It’s not bleeding at the moment, is what I mean.” She bites her cheek at the thought of cleaning it. It’s going to sting. And to think she was thankful for this gash not more than a second ago.

Delphine nods. “We should clean it. I can walk you to the shore? The saltwater…?” She trails off, motioning to the ocean. 

Cosima’s gaze follows her gestures towards the water and watches the waves roll into the sand lazily before they slink back to their origination. “No, not the ocean. The bacteria could infect the cut,” she tells Delphine, looking back at her.

The blonde shakes her head a little. “The saltwater will clean the wound. The chances of you becoming infected with bacteria that _may_ be in the ocean is very slim. Your immune system will fight it off,” she informs patiently.

And Cosima agrees with her completely, because that’s the case with just about every other person. “Unless my immune system isn’t exactly up to par.” The other woman’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion at the saying, making Cosima smile, mostly to herself. “If I catch an infection, I won’t be able to fight it off,” she elaborates, the smile on her lips breaking.

Delphine’s brow smoothens out in understanding. “You are sick?” Cosima offers a nod as confirmation and nothing more. Silence fills the space momentarily before Delphine assures her, “I’m sure we can find something in the luggage.”

—||—

Cosima is sitting in the sand amidst numerous suitcases and duffle bags and briefcases, ideally searching for a first-aid kit, but she has since lowered her standards to a simple bottle of hydrogen peroxide. She squirms uncomfortably unzipping the next suitcase. It’s just so violating to peruse through other passengers’ things, but she flips the top back anyway. Something inside grabs her attention—this time it’s a sketchbook with the initials “K.O.” scratched into the bottom. It’s aged and tattered so Cosima opens it gingerly. Obviously, there isn’t any medicine in the sketchbook, but her curiosity flips the first few pages. 

Half-finished doodles of clothing and shoes litter most of the sheets, but every so often she comes across an intricately penciled sketch of a faceless person, dressed up in patterned outfits, complete with accessories and complimentary colors. Cosima runs her fingers along the last filled page as her breath catches in her throat, realizing how possible it is that “K.O.” might never get to fill the entire sketchbook. She slides it back in the pocket she pulled it from, glances through the rest of the suitcase, finds nothing, and re-zips it. The same cycle of guilt, curiosity, amusement, and pain repeats itself for _hours_ until Delphine finally resurfaces from her section of luggage-digging with a kit in her hands and a smile on her face. 

“Thank God,” Cosima sighs quietly as she refolds a map she found in the most recent suitcase. Delphine kneels into the sand beside to her, unclasping the latches on the white box and pulling out cotton balls. She begins saturating them in disinfectant.

“It is going to sting,” Delphine says with a wince. Cosima nods her head without looking at the bottle. “Do you want to—you can squeeze my hand. You know, if it helps.” Her arm stretches out invitingly to Cosima.

Delphine’s hand is right in front of her, palm turned up, revealing a paler color of skin where there had been dirt etched into the creases of her palm. She slips her hand into Delphine’s easily and it reminds her of last night when the blonde had been sharing her passion for her studies—immunology—with a light in her eyes that drew Cosima closer, hanging on her every word. The only thing she loves more than talking about science is listening to other people talk about science. It’s silly, she knows, but Cosima can’t help but feel connected to people whose passions overlap with her own. It draws the loneliness out of her life and gives her someone to relate to. She had imagine holding Delphine’s hand that night, as if this would have told Delphine: _Look at us. Look at how similar we are._ As if this would have told herself: _Look at you. Look at how you aren’t alone._

But now Delphine’s hand is in her hand, their skin colliding between tiny grits of sand. “Thanks.” Her eyes jump between Delphine’s. _Look at how similar we are._ She can’t tell what she finds there before Delphine looks away, down at Cosima’s cut, down at the distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the encouragement to keep going with this! It really does keep me writing this AU

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments MUCH APPRECIATED:))


End file.
